Black Butler - Insomnia
by CarrionSky
Summary: Set approximately seven years after the events of Black Butler Season Two, follow new master and Demon pair Elijah and Joel. As we all know, Demons can be quite possessive of their contracts, and are thus unpredictable when faced with a rival devil such as Michaelis himself. A mess is sure to follow, and just what will Joel do then? He shall do as the butler does, and tidy up.
1. Prologue

Prologue –

The serpent lay waiting, peering through the foliage that was its cloak, examining the child before him.

Eyes, scrutinizing and cold, embraced the pale skin. Traced along the soft, almost regal features, the chestnut-brown hair that fell in waves over the boy's forehead. Dressed quite simply in what many would describe as rags, tattered and loose-fitting, the child could not have been older than seven. The serpent watched, and the serpent waited. And the serpent drank in this tribute's, this immaculate sacrifice's essence. To its own surprise, the serpent found that the boy held a strange quality about him, as if, in some strange way, he was to play the role of the predator. And the serpent the prey.

Frightened by this thought, an experience never before held by a demon, the serpent feared for his own life. Ridiculous, it thought, as a demon's life cannot be ended, not without the use of _that_ weapon, and the sheath of that weapon. . . .

_At the bottom of a lake,_ thought the serpent. Trapped, eternally with her beloved little brat, her Highness. The Trancy child, but also that spider butler. . . . Claude Faustus. Yes, the she-devil Annafellows had dragged them all with her to her impossible grave. And Alois, that trouble-child, willingly. Happily.

Nevertheless, this child frightened him. The eyes that held his own were a deep, bright green, and half-closed as if exhausted, almost asleep.

And the child looked up.

Into the serpents gaze.

And the boy smiled.

_I know what you are, Demon. _The serpent drew back, surprised. It silently took up its coiled poise. Prepared now, for anything.

_Are you afraid, Demon? Of a mere child? Surely not, no, not a high-and-mighty first-class devil such as yourself. Then speak._

The serpent drew closer to the boy now, excising the wound to its pride. The boy's smile grew even wider.

_Good boy._

At this the serpent flinched. Actually flinched, which is outrageous in its own right. He, a demon, and this child, his meal? Why would he possibly, conceivably be . . . frightened?

The child's hand slid out from beneath his ill-fitting gowns, and stroked the tip of the serpents nose. Slowly, carefully, his delicate fingers curled around the point closest to the serpents skull. An ounce more of pressure, and the demon would choke.

_Understand Demon, I do this not out of choice. As I have none. But your services will please me greatly should I bend them to my . . . tastes._ The boy frowned, as if in thought, before continuing. _Yes, I know. You will grant my wish, won't you Demon? And in return. . . ._

_ Your soul is mine. _The serpent finished, speaking up for the first time. A shiver ran up the serpents spine. That beautiful, delicious soul? His. In exchange for meager labours. A trifle, compared to the Demon's lifespan. . . . Yes. He would serve as this child's servant, his butler, and gain possession of his faultless being.

_And so the contract is sealed,_ the child says, smirking. He drew, gently, the serpents head towards his own.

_Your orders, master?_

The boy put his lips to the serpents head, whispered words only for the Demon's ears, and waited for a reply.

The serpent flicked out its tongue.

_Yes, my liege._

* * *

They stood together, child and Demon, and watched as before them the mansion sunk into the earth. Gone was the serpent. In its place, a tall, sturdy young man with exceptional beauty stood. Hair black as midnight smoothed back across his head. Eyes white as snow peered down on the sight so beautiful before them.

The manor, once proud and noble, had been reduced to half its size. This was, of course, because the other half was being pulled into the earth itself. Noblemen and servants alike screamed and fled in futility before an unseen force dragged them back towards where land met manor, and hell met earth. Shadows clawed and writhed, and sought only more nourishment. Satisfaction. Satiation.

_How pitiful, _the child said aloud. He grinned and turned to the man dressed perfectly in the black tailcoat and white gloves so befitting of a butler.

_It is, however, much more efficient than having to go through the trouble of forming a contract with a human, and waiting, and serving. Why do you not just do this, Demon?_

_ Believe what you may, master, but I am more than a raving beast._

The boy's smile grew. _That so? _Heturned back to the spectacle.

_ Remember,_ his voice came, darker now. _I do not want you trying to weasel your way out of _our_ contract, am I understood?_

The demon inclined his head. _Yes, my liege._

Suddenly, unexpectedly, a laugh rose from the child's throat. It echoed delightfully over the walls of the mansion, the bodies of the damned. They were both discordant and harmonic with the screams of the dying. He grinned maniacally.

_Reap what you have sown, bigots. _He grew silent. Then turned to his raven-haired butler.

_From now on, when I call the name Joel Carlisle, you will appear at my side. This is correct, no?_

_ Yes, my liege._

The boy smiled. _And please, call me Elijah._

On the left of the child's neck, a bright red insignia shone forth. And on the butler, the same mark gleamed radiantly beneath the glove of his left hand. Now, they were together. Now, they could not be apart. Ever, and forever, they were bound to each other. The hunter will serve, and do his bidding. And in return, the prey can never escape.

Together, they watched as the world was drowned in misery.


	2. Red Like Wine

Red like Wine –

"Let's see, this drama shall begin on . . . August 13th, 1896. Yes, that will do nicely. And the setting shall be the Queen's land herself, England in all its glory. Perfect! In a field of grass green, and flowers white, red and blue. At the end of a stone path tracing its way across the picturesque landscape. Suddenly, a mansion arises out of the horizon. Sturdy, proud and oh, so white. Ivy clings to the walls like a blanket, decorating their purity with splashes of, ah yes. White. Budding blooms dot the web of ivy and give the manor a feeling of depth, warmth and comfort. Like sheets of satin. . . ."

Furiously, the boy's hand carves out the scene on a piece of parchment. Words flow through and across the page, telling the story as he himself designed. Based entirely on fact, of course.

"Yes," the boy says, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He adjusts his copper-framed spectacles and smiles. He leans back to admire his work, just as a knock comes politely at his bedroom door.

"Who is it?" The boy calls.

"Your humble servant, master," comes the familiar voice from behind the door.

He smiles. "Come in."

On cue, the portal swings open, and a tall, black-haired man strides into the room. He sighs upon seeing the boy, still dressed in his nightclothes and sitting cross-legged on a chair at his desk, pen in hand. He approaches, and sets the platter of tea he had been carrying beside the child.

"You needn't wake up so early, my liege. You know I will wake you when the morning comes."

"Sorry, I just got so restless just lying there." He hops up and spins to face the butler. The contrast in their size is significant, for the child is tall for his age, but the butler is simply tall in general. One with eyes green and hair brown, the other with mismatched black-and-white. The butler runs a hand over his hair and smiles.

"This morning's tea is an Earl Grey Variant, that includes thyme and hints of rose. . . ."

". . . that so perfectly emphasises the taste," finishes the boy. He grins and takes a sip.

"The same tea, the same teacup. The same platter, even. Waking up to the exact same flavour is a comforting thing." He sets the cup back down on the saucer.

"I believe after seven years together, you may have fallen into a routine," says the butler with a smile.

Which the boy returns. "I assure you, it's not a bad thing." He seems to remember something. "Ah! Read this play I've just thought up, Joel!"

The butler leans across the desk to read. "Fourteen years of age and already you are writing fantastic epics. Quite impressive, my master."

"Well, what do you think?!" The boy clutches his arm happily.

Joel smiles at Elijah. "I love it. There are both overtones, and such subtle little hints of something so much more in depth."

"Such as. . . ?" the child urges him on.

The butler's gloved hand traces over a sentence. "Right there, for one. The way you worded the arrival of the mansion, 'arises out of the horizon'." He smiles wider, only slightly. "As if in contrast to the original sinking into the depths."

"Yes!" Elijah peals, twirling away from his servant to land on his bed. The comforter fluffs up around him, and he laughs. He opens his eyes and grins.

"And then after that. . . ?"

Joel continues reading. He stops nearing the end of the paragraph.

"'Ivy clings to the walls like a blanket, decorating their purity with splashes of white.' I assume, by that, you mean. . . ."

"Yes, only you would pick up on that, Joel. The morning glories in my play can be interpreted two ways. Most people see them only as beautiful, elegant, dainty things. But they neglect to remember. . . ." He sticks out his tongue.

". . . that morning glories are actually weeds."

The butler smiles. "How deliciously twisted."

The boy's face twitches into a smile. "Twisted? Oh, Joel, how you wound me." He shuffles until he's staring at the butler, lying on his side. "Can you find no better word to describe me?" He pulls himself up, closer to the butler.

"No other word, at all?"

Joel leans in. "Not if I searched for a thousand lifetimes, my liege."

Elijah pulls back, but laughs. "Right, I guess that's to be expected. I can hardly blame you; after all, it was I who dragged you into this mess."

"And for that, I am thankful." Joel inclines his head. "You have certainly livened up these past few years, master."

"_Elijah_," the boy corrects. "Please, seven years is enough time to be on first-name terms don't you agree?"

Joel raises his head slightly, enough to inspect the child under lowered eyelashes. "Yes, my liege."

Elijah scoffs. "You're missing the point."

"Is there really a point to follow? Now, let us get you changed. It is nearly time for breakfast."

"Ah ah, bathing first."

Joel sighs. "Yes, that's right. You are one of the few masters I've had who prefers bathing in the morning."

"Ah, but was any of your other masters nearly as interesting?"

Joel smiles. His eyes seem even more shockingly white than usual.

"Not nearly."

* * *

"Joel, I told you I can bathe myself!"

The tall butler sighs as his master pulls out of his shirt, which he had been attempting to help remove. Now he was left holding the soft white nightclothes.

"It is my duty as a butler –"

"To be a pervert?" Elijah waves his hand in a _shoo_ gesture. Now, don't look, I'm getting undressed."

Joel straightens and turns to the wall, absently folding the shirt over his arm while he waits. Suddenly, a pair of pants hits him on the back of his head. He flicks his hand out behind him and catches them, before returning to his folding.

"Jeez," Elijah mutters, climbing into the hot water his butler had prepared. He breathes in relief, and sinks lower down until only his eyes remain above the water level. He half-lowers them, and blows bubbles in the steaming water. A hand offers him a bottle, which he takes without question. His eyes shoot open and so does he shoot up, splashing the black-clothed butler with hot water.

"Joel!" Elijah exclaims.

"I thought you might need shampoo, master."

Elijah stares at him in apparent disbelief, before gritting his teeth and pouring the entire bottle over his head. It runs over his form, and tints the water a strange, artificial blue. He empties its contents, and then tosses the empty container at Joel, who catches it easily.

"Satisfied?" Elijah asks with a smirk.

Joel smiles. He points at his master's bare body. "Entirely."

In that one moment, Elijah went from his usual pallor to a beet red. He grabs his butler's tailcoat by the collar and jerks his head towards his own. However, in the act of doing so, he loses his footing in the water-filled and now slick bathtub, and topples forwards. His hands splay out automatically, as if to absorb the impact. Instead, they find a softer handhold.

Surprised, Elijah looks up into the face of his butler. His hands clutch to the tailcoat, now soaked in blue shampoo. Joel wraps an arm protectively around his master.

"Are you quite alright, my liege?"

He doesn't answer at first. "El . . . i . . . JAH!" he screams, shoving his butler away from him. He's laughing though.

Joel inspects his tarnished clothes in displeasure. "Oh dear, now I must have this cleaned."

"Well, that's what you get." Elijah chuckles and peers down at the bright blue water twirling around his calves. "And Joel? Would you mind drawing me a new bath?"

* * *

"At least let me redress you."

"No, no NO." Elijah wrestles away from his butler and pulls the plain white dress shirt around his shoulders. He begins furiously buttoning it up, all while dodging around the room avoiding Joel's assistance.

"Why don't you understand that I DON'T NEED HELP DOING SUCH MENIAL TASKS."

"If you do not let me assist you in such tasks, then for what purpose do you have a butler?"

Elijah finishes pulling on the thin red vest, and does the large golden buttons up while staring at his butler.

"You know full well for what purpose I have you. You are to grant my wish, are you not?"

"I am." Joel steps towards his master, and drapes the large black coat over his torso. Elijah no longer tries fighting his help.

"But is there nothing else with which I can assist you?"

Elijah sighs and twirls around his butler, so they stand back-to-back.

"Of course. But goals take time to achieve. One cannot rush forwards in a wanton fashion and expect adequate results. No, to succeed in this world you must till the land, plant the seeds, water the crops, _then_ harvest when the time is right. To reap prematurely is to have wasted a year of effort. We _will_ achieve what we have aimed to achieve, whether it takes a year or a thousand." Elijah smiles. "And then, you too can reap what you deserve."

Joel flicks his tongue out, much like a serpent. "Gladly. Well, then. It appears I have but one thing left to do before breakfast."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

He claps his gloved hands together, and smiles silently.

"I shall do as the butler does, and till the land."

* * *

The dining hall of the Griffith Estate was as impeccably beautiful as the rest of the manor. Dressed lavishly in red velvet drapes, and carpets of the same hue. And all wrapped up in the six white walls as if an irreplaceable gift given from a lover. The dining table stretched nearly from end of the hall to the other, and had been draped in, yes, white. In the eyes of Elijah, white was the most pure and innocent of colours.

"White," said Elijah, as he walked down the edge of the table. He ran his fingers over the sheer fabric of the tablecloth.

"White," he said again. "White, white, white, white, white, white." He hops up on top of the table itself and dances around the various plates and platters. He delicately taps around, without so much as bumping a teacup. Finally, he comes to a stop and smiles.

"White," he says once more. "And copper. White and copper."

All of the dishes and utensils in the manor, were, of course, copper. Well, not _all_ of the dishes. All plates and bowls were fine porcelain. White is innocence. And copper is taint.

"There has to be a balance between the two." Elijah flourishes his hand in a bow. He raises his head and grins. "Lest the copper take over."

A smashing sound echoes throughout the hall. Elijah looks up, and notices that a maid had dropped and shattered the master's plate, with the prepared meal still resting on top. He takes Joel's hand when he offers it and steps down off the table. The maid flinches when he begins to approach her. Her blonde braid fell off her shoulder and covered her face as she bowed.

"My liege," she whispers. Tears spill from her radiant green eyes. "Please, forgive another of my mistakes. I see that I am an incompetent maid of this household, unworthy of the Griffith –"

"Please, Elena." Elijah places his hand on the top of her head. "Your eyes remind me of my own, and I'd hate to see them clouded by tears."

The maid makes a small choking sound and dares to look up slightly. Whether she expects pain or discipline, she gets neither. Elijah simply fixes her braid and adjusts her bonnet.

"There," he says, smiling contently. "All better."

Elena's eyes widen. She smiles and bows once more. "Yes, my liege."

"Now there's the matter of what to do with you. You broke a plate, probably because your hands are shaking uncontrollably. Are you nervous? Or. . . ." he examines her. ". . . or are you just exhausted?"

She shakes her head. "Neither, my liege. I can continue to serve you and the entire –"

"No, no, that just won't do. You must be punished." He appears deep in thought. Then he snaps. "Yes, I know. You are hereby to remain in your room for a full day, sleeping. Unless, of course, you wish to eat or use the restroom. Please do so at your leisure. Or, better yet, call me and I'll cook your meals personally."

Elena gasps. "But master –"

"Ah!" Elijah snaps. He clicks his tongue as if he's chastising a child. "Do you intend to disobey me? Your punishment has been extended to a full week, Elena. That is an order."

She swallows. "Y-yes, my liege." She turns to leave, but smiles over her shoulder.

"I am undeserving."

Then she hurries away.

Elijah smiles to himself. His smile twitches, and turns into a frown.

Joel leans in to whisper in his ear. "My liege, there is –"

"Yes, I know." He quickly regains his composure and offers Joel his hand. "Nevertheless, shall we practice again today?"

Joel bows. "Yes, my liege."

A few minutes later, they are situated in the main hall of the manor, swords in hand.

Thin, long blades designed for thrusting, not slashing. Fencing Foils. Only these have been modified to be sturdier, and wider, such as to be used as a proper weapon, and not just a tool of sport.

"And so. . . ." Joel says.

"Allez!" Elijah calls, and lunges at his butler.

Their swords meet in midair, and slide to the hilt. Sparks run along the length. With a grunt they disengage, and proceed to dance around each other, slicing and stabbing at their opponent. Joel's weapon misses Elijah's head by an inch, and Elijah jumps backwards onto the railing of the staircase. Joel follows in pursuit, only instead taking the stairs.

Their blades continue to ricochet off one another as Joel climbs in pursuit. Elijah's feet glide up the railing without so much as stumbling, and just as they reach the top, Elijah leaps backwards off the edge.

Joel drops his weapon and lunges over the edge, tailcoat flaring out behind him as he falls. He drops like a lead weight and curls around Elijah in mid-air, landing softly on the white marble below. He cradles the boy as if he were a newborn and asks, "my liege –"

The tip of the foil grazes against his neck, and he stops mid-sentence. Elijah grins up at his butler, and then breaks out laughing. Joel sets him on the ground and sighs.

"Will you ever not fall for that?"asks the boy.

"I'm afraid not. For when I see you so inherently helpless and fragile, I feel inclined to assist you."

"Was that a quip?"

"Yes, my liege."

Elijah scoffs. "Well at least you were honest about it."

A flash of white runs along his blade, and the bottom half of Joel's tie falls to the floor. The butler's lips twitch up into a smile.

"Did I unnerve you?" He asks slyly.

"Just enough," the boy replies. He grins up at him. "Don't push your luck, demon."

Joel's smile falls. "Yes. And speaking of, we still have that matter to attend to. . . ."

"Yes." Elijah turns to the large double doors as if expecting them to swing inward. "See to it our guests are granted every available hospitality." He grins.

* * *

The carriage had refused to bring them any farther than the edge of the estate. Large black gates loomed above, embroidered with symbols of snakes and winged creatures. The emblem of the house Griffith was placed like a beacon in the centre of it all, barring their path. The moment master and butler stepped outside the vehicle, the gates had swung inward as if on their own accord.

Nonetheless, this made the driver leave even more hastily.

When the sound of horses' hooves and the clattering wheels shrank into the distance, the butler looked down upon his young master.

"White," says the child. Thirteen years of age. For seven years now.

"How plain."

"But does the plethora of colours not accent the manor, my lord?"

"No, they do not. The entire estate has a demonic taint smearing its purity."

The butler smiles. "My, how've you grown, guard dog."

The child peers up at him with bitter blue eyes. His black hair falls just to his nose, and almost veils the disgusted expression he wears like a mask. Almost.

"First Madam Red. The Grim Reapers. Angels, demons. And Alois Trancy. And now another wishes to destroy me."

"Elijah Griffith," says the tall man dressed in the tailcoat. He pronounces each syllable carefully, as if it were a dangerous and volatile substance that would detonate should the proper care not be taken.

"We'll see who ends up gagged and buried at sea." The child peers up at his butler with now demonic, glowing irises. "Is that not right, Sebastian?"

"It is, my lord." He inclines his head. "Presenting to all, the Earl Phantomhive. The prodigal child, Ciel himself."


End file.
